


A Different Kind of Beauty

by DemureEmollience



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxious Katsuki Yuuri, Beast Victor, Beauty Yuuri, I really wanted a beauty and the beast AU for my babies I'm sorry, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Yuri Plisetsky, Sad Victor Nikiforov, Slow Build, There will be fluff too of course, Victor needs a hug, You Have Been Warned, crappy writing, the au nobody asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 06:51:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10679982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemureEmollience/pseuds/DemureEmollience
Summary: It feels like what happened should have been a surprise.The type of surprise that comes unexpectedly, as most surprises do, and with little to no reason for it being there.But that would be a lie as thick as the snow that blanketed everything outside.(I will find a better summary eventually but I can't think of one currently, I'm sorry!)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! :) I will start this out by saying I have no idea what I am doing! I'm kind of just letting my fingers do all the typing. I've been on a huge Beauty and the Beast kick for a while and after finally getting around to binge-watching this wonderful anime, I desperately wished for a fic surrounding the same aspect. I'm still getting used to the characters and it will take a bit until I have them under my grasp, but until then please bear with me haha ^^
> 
> I can't write by the way. It's kind of a mess of nonsense and my attempts to write with my ongoing sleep deprivation. :') I'm sorry for any errors. A part of me wants to get a Beta but I'm not sure how to go about that and I wouldn't burden someone with this. ^^"
> 
> But please enjoy! :) I'll try to update semi-regularly but with finals and my college internship coming up, I can't give any promises. 
> 
> Also! I really like spelling Viktor with a "K" and not a "C". I know it's a C but the K looks more aesthetically pleasing to me since I am currently in the process of learning Russian and have a Russian friend who has ingrained this into me haha. ^^ So if that bothers you, I apologize.
> 
> Have a nice day and thank you for attempting to read my story! :)

It feels like what happened should have been a surprise.

The type of surprise that comes unexpectedly, as most surprises do, and with little to no reason for it being there.

But that would be a lie as thick as the snow that blanketed everything outside.

Viktor always had a feeling something like this would happen. He didn’t know the time, the place or the circumstance that might make it a reality, but he knew it was bound to happen eventually. An inevitable outcome to put it bluntly. 

After all, his father wasn’t a likeable person in any nature. 

Which was…Awful to say, wasn’t it?

Viktor never liked saying or even _thinking_ it when he was younger. It felt like it was an act of treason in itself against the people who gave him life in saying that. Like he wasn’t grateful. Like he was as spoiled as people liked to believe. 

They couldn’t be more wrong, but that wasn’t the point.

In thinking this treasonous thought, Viktor felt like he should be feeling guilty for thinking something negatively about his father; and he did sometimes when he would occasionally get the very rare smile or sound of approval. Or the moments when he would see his father stare forlornly at a painting done of Viktor’s mother in the prime of her beauty. Seeing this part of his father, the man truly couldn’t think of a single bad word to describe him.

He wasn’t used to being this melancholy. Viktor was used to being outside and skating on ice and smiling so often, even if most of them were fake and practiced. He felt like the second he walked into this house the happiness had been stripped of him. Like it hit a barrier at the door and only Viktor’s physical body could go through and everything else had to remain behind.

There were moments when Viktor didn’t hold the same outlook on coming home and they came with alarming clarity.

 _“Good job. Vitya.”_ When his studies were proven excellent.

 _“Perhaps if I finish my work early, we could go skating in the lake. It seems to have frozen enough and I can’t deny your talent in the art is growing rapidly.”_ As he sat dutifully and with the patience of a child while his father finished his work. He said nothing and simply observed which, apparently, was what the man wanted. He always valued his silence.

 _“Be mindful of your surroundings. Please. Your recklessness may bring the end of us both.”_ This was after he fell on the ice and hit his head on a rock. He remembered barely anything except for the brief moments he awoke and saw his father bent over his bed side in a clear visage of distress. 

Thinking of these and then calling his father cruel should be cruel in itself, shouldn’t it?

But these moments were few and far between. Viktor, now 23, rarely saw these parts of him anymore. All he caught onto was scorn when he slipped out with his coach, Yakov, to go to the Grand Prix or the Nationals. Skating, practicing and ultimately _living_ unlike the man who stared at the outside world from a window dulled from his own poisonous anger and chronic regret.

At first he thought his father might hold a sense of pride for something his son excelled in but he was wrong. Viktor had long given up telling his father of his achievements and medals. The man never wanted to hear of it, and when he did catch a word of the act he would go on a tirade of reasons why it was detrimental to Viktor’s success in life. The second it became clear skating was more than a childhood hobby, it was suddenly an act of rebellion by name.

Needless to say, it was a touchy topic. 

But then again everything might as well become a touchy subject with their complete isolation from each other. 

After all, Viktor was no longer a boy. He wasn’t quiet and he rarely kept his thoughts to himself. Little could alter his mind and his father knew that very well and chose to make him nonexistent when trivial matters cornered their once peaceful coexistence.

A cruel aristocrat to the bone, his father was a man who always had a resolute frown with eyes that seemed to silently see every mistake in you the second he met you.

That was how everyone saw him and Viktor couldn’t help but agreeing to their assessment.  
While Viktor was well liked, his father couldn’t be any more different if he tried. He was in charge of evicting people from their homes, keeping tabs on his properties and never allowing any leeway in the midst of his lonely greed. It was suffocating being around that. Like Viktor was a bird in an iron cage that was never to open. He couldn’t live like that. No, he refused to as a matter of fact.

The threats were new and at first his father looked genuinely surprised but soon clicked his tongue disapprovingly like everything else. Viktor was told to burn them in the fireplace and that that was the end of it. Out of sight and officially out of mind.

And as the death threats to his father rose, well, Viktor kept to himself.

That was how it remained for the last decade or so. At this point, Viktor had more conversations with the servants and staff than his own flesh and blood. It didn’t bother him as much as it used to, yet a part of him wanted to appeal to his father and gain his respect once more.

In order to do that, however, he would have to give up skating.

Sadly, (and could it really be said sadly when Viktor held no grief in his decision at all?) that was the one thing he would and could not do.

He hoped time would change the man’s mind.

It hadn’t. If anything, it solidified his hatred of it as Viktor “shirked his duties” in learning his father’s business he wanted no part of. 

At this point, little could be done except just accepting it and trying not to let it settle under his skin.

Now his father had been reduced to something smaller and as frail as the ice that surrounded their home. He had a multitude of blankets and comforters overtop, but no warmth would bring back the color in his rapidly paling skin. His breaths were shallow and his eyes seemed to be closing at each exhale. He was in his last passing moments and silence fell like a thick snow.

Viktor was sitting on a chair he placed next to his father’s bed, keeping an unwanted eye on him. Makkachin had his head on his owner’s lap, staring up at him in an oddly touching dog way of concern.

It was probably the only comforting fact in this room – no, in this house altogether.  
He ran his hands through the soft fur, sighing as he watched over his father fighting a losing battle.

It was painful and perhaps Viktor should be upset but it had been long coming for a while now. The physician, who seemed quietly relieved to give the news, told him the diagnosis a few months ago and little could be done to change the path his father had irrevocably set for himself. 

At first he was distraught, but now he just wanted his father to be at peace. Finally, if at all.

Viktor himself didn’t know what he would do in his stead, but he knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to skate and liven the place he lived in. He didn’t want to be stuck in a home where his thoughts plummeted so fast to the emotionless mask he kept around his father. He wanted to be able to express himself like he did in his skating, like he had when his mother had been alive. 

He just wasn’t quite sure it was what he _needed_ to do (though saying this was odd in its own right, wasn’t it?)

(He was questioning a lot, wasn’t he? He never did so before.)

His father coughed and Viktor jumped. This was it. This was the moment that he should say or do whatever he wanted to.

He felt like he should say something. After all, that was why he was up here and disobeying his father’s wishes to not disturb his final moments. To say something that had been on his mind as long as he could think back to. Viktor probably should have mentioned it earlier, but…

He just never found the right time.

And now they were out of it so how much seconds could he spare to wait?

“Vitya,” his father’s gravelly voice echoed into the quiet room and Viktor focused his stare on the man, attention on every slurred word. “You didn’t listen to my request.”

“No, I did not,” he said quietly, focusing on Makkachin and scratching behind his ears like he liked.

“There’s a reason, isn’t there?” A nod. “Well, out with it. It’s best to get whatever is leaving your thoughts heavy off your chest before it consumes you.” There was a certain resigned fondness in his voice as he said it to Viktor that the man had to do a double-take and really look as his father. He looked no different, however. Just more tired and less angry.  
Nevertheless, Viktor couldn’t deny that he sounded like he spoke from experience.

Taking a deep breath, he spoke.

But he hardly got a syllable out. “I-“

Suddenly, the windows burst open that led to the balcony. A woman hunched over with a cloak covering her frail form stood, snow pelting her left and right. Makkachin let out a bark but it didn’t scare the sudden intruder at all. 

When the woman took a single step to approach the bed of which his father was now sitting up, struggling and trying to catch his breath at the surprise, she fell to the ground with a yelp of pain. Viktor’s instincts called for him to jump up and help the woman, but for some reason he couldn’t move. He thought maybe he could call for the servants but his mouth refused to open up. It was like the jaw was locked as were all his joints. 

He could only watch.

Absently, he wondered how she got up here. This was a second story floor. No trees surrounded this part of the manor, it shouldn’t be possible. In her state even more so! She looked to be perhaps 70 years old judging from what he could see under her cloak, so climbing a tree – if there were any at this window – would have been impossible.

Yet here she was.

She stumbled to her feet and gradually made a step towards the bed. His father seemed to recoil from her with each step.

“I’m sorry to intrude, sir, but may I ask of you a place to stay? The storm is rather intense and this house is the only place to rest until I reach my destination. I just require a room and I’ll be gone by morning if you will have me.” She murmured this with her hands put together in prayer. Judging from the hands and the chin Viktor could barely see, she wasn’t a pretty woman in the slightest.

Even so, his mother ingrained him to help those who asked for it.

If only he could move.

His father, however, was not graced with the same. There was a steely gaze in his eyes as his lips pulled back in a sneer.

“Why should I grant you such a request? How dare you enter my manor with your disturbing countenance and faulty form. You would make the nearest child cry for weeks with night terrors and the purest woman stricken with grief. I wouldn’t let your dirt-crusted talons touch my manors hallways much less an actual room. Leave this place at once.”

Viktor was used to the coldness of his father’s voice, but these words still set a chill down his spine. It was the complete opposite of the fondness that donned the man’s face not a minute earlier.

The woman tried again. This time her voice carried more weight like the words his father spoke only made her stronger. “I implore you to reconsider, sir. It may benefit you in the process. It will only be for one night. I’ll leave as soon as the storm subsides and no evidence will be left behind of my presence.”

But his father was unrelenting. “Reconsidering would only result in the same conclusion. You are not granted permission to be in this place. While I do not know how you appeared before my son and I, I want you to leave just as suddenly and without further grievance to this time.”

“What if I have payment for your time?”

His father’s eyes narrowed. Viktor couldn’t help but think “jackpot” as the word “payment” registered in that mind. “What payment are you offering?”

The woman reached into her cloak and pulled out a white rose. It was as pure as the snow that whistled outside. It had a certain untouchable feeling around it that made Viktor feel like his skating could never achieve. It was beautiful needless to say. He would have gladly accepted such an offering – or none at all – for the woman’s stay.

But, like he said, his father and he were completely different. “A _plant?_ What use is a plant to paying for my manor? What use would this plant be.”

“Looks can be deceiving, sir,” the woman insisted but was swiftly ignored.

“I refuse. I refuse your plant, your person and your existence in my household. Be gone either the same way you came or I will summon my servants to escort you out officially. I will not have you in this house. Not now and certainly not ever.”

A bitter smile fought onto the corners of the woman’s lips. Viktor thought he heard her murmur under her breath, _“Just as I would expect with a greedy aristocrat of a man but I wished to give you the benefit of the doubt,”_ but he must have imagined it. What he did here, however, were worse and held more threat than seemed possible, “You will regret such words, sir. Sorrow will consume you from your actions.”

They sounded final.

No, they sounded more than final. They sounded utterly absolute, like her voice was the voice that weighed his father’s past mistakes, his present faults, and his potential future errors. 

The moment Viktor had been waiting for was happening, and Viktor couldn’t move or speak to stop it.

The woman slowly stood and as she did, her skin seemed to become youthful in appearance. When she was standing straight and with the previous hunch lacking, the hood fell off her head and revealed a woman too beautiful for words. Blonde locks framed her face and seemed to flow around her face like flames fanning around her. Her stare, however, countered any warmth that may be given.

His father, while as surprised as Viktor, didn’t falter with the threat. “What will you do to me then, wench? Will you curse me? End my life with a flick of those cursed fingers of yours? I’m a dying man, and my life will end within the hour at most. There is no point in placing your detestation against me when it will not give you the satisfaction you seek. Your threat is empty. I will not repeat my statement again: leave these premises immediately.”

But there was a smirk that grew with every word his father spoke and when he was done, the woman turned to stare at Viktor. He held his breath at the change in her eyes. There was something sad about them as she said, “You may be on your death bed, but your son is still young and thriving. Let’s see how you feel once you see the cruelty you established reflected on the son who remains pure.”

She flicked her wrist. 

At first, Viktor didn’t notice it but then a searing pain consumed him and he was instantly allowed to move only to curl into himself as he fell off the chair. He cradled his head as it tried to split and was horrified when he felt something grow out of his skull. Looking at his hands, he saw the fingers transforming into claws, fur entangling itself into the skin like it was always meant to be. The worst was his feet which were no longer the feet of a human at all. Instead, they looked like hooves.

What was he turning into?

He knew the answer all too well but he couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe that it was happening to him when he hadn’t done anything to deserve it!

_You may be on your death bed, but your son is still young and thriving. Let’s see how you feel once you see the cruelty you established reflected on the son who remains pure._

This was the physical manifestation of that?

_A monster?_

When the change occurred completely, Viktor looked up to his father, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, but the man was just staring at his son in reflected horror.

“Turn him back.” He muttered lowly before yelling at the woman. “Turn my son back, you deranged harpy!”

The woman pursed her lips at the name. “No. The curse is done. I cannot change what has been done and I would not even if I could. You have brought this upon yourself.” She closed her eyes and looked directly at Viktor. “You, my boy, will remain like this until you find someone who is willing to accept you despite your flaws and deformed figure. Someone who loves you through all of what is being seen. Those who are in here, the trio downstairs and the staff, will be cursed to remain here alongside you.”

“Can you not release them?” Viktor asked and was that his voice now? That deep, beast-like rumble in his throat? 

She gave him a sad smile. “While I have been the one to have done this to you, I will not lengthen the curse by leaving you alone. I am not as cruel as you might think me to be.”

“And if they leave?”

Her eyes closed. “Impossible. Only those who come in here are able to leave. Those who are here now are doomed to remain here always.” There was a pause at it sunk into Viktor what she said, a grimace contorting his face when he thought of Yuri, Mila and Yakov downstairs. The people who had never asked for this like he. 

“You will be forgotten in the real world. No one will remember your name or what you have done and those who might will always be in doubt.” Viktor looked up sharply at that, a burning question coming up his throat but his father had understood it quicker than he had.

“Then how is he to find the one to love him?” His father ground out of clenched teeth and Viktor had never seen his father so upset before. “How is he supposed to break this curse if you are erasing him from existence as I understand. One cannot find love if he doesn’t exist! Don’t you realize this flaw or was that your intention?”

“That is for the curse to decide, I’m afraid. Perhaps someone will get lost in the woods and end up at this place by accident. Or maybe someone could be skating,” her gaze landed on Viktor as he gasped at the word. “And the ice could falter, summoning them here. It’s not for me to distinguish. All that I can say in complete certainty is that there will be people to end up here. Whether they love you or do not is up to circumstance.”

Circumstance? So, Viktor would have to go through person by person until someone didn’t scream at the sight of him? 

He thought he heard his father gasp out something but Viktor was too lost in his own sudden grief to process what the man was saying. Only the woman’s words echoed in his mind.

_You will be forgotten._

_Those who are here are doomed to remain here always._

_Whether they love you or do not is up to circumstance._

Was it odd to say that even in this curse, he couldn’t hate his father for being the cause of it? Was he perhaps broken in thinking that _he_ had done something to call this curse upon him?

It felt like it.

Viktor looked to the side for Makkachin but the dog was pressed against the door. He wasn’t quite growling but not happy either. It was like he was confused who this person who took his owner’s place was.

That made two of them, then.

When he looked up to his father, he stood immediately on his new legs and placed his claw-like hands gingerly against the heart and throat. There was no pulse and there was no heartbeat. His father had passed away suddenly and swiftly and Viktor didn’t even tell him “goodbye,” “I love you” or “I forgive you.” 

What a cruel way to end a cruel life.

Viktor took a step back from the bed, unsteady in his new body, and walked to where the woman was standing. She didn’t flinch at his appearance nor did she take a step back. She knew as well as he that Viktor wouldn’t do anything to harm her. It wasn’t in his nature.

Instead, she lifted up a hand and caressed his cheek, rubbing a thumb across to catch the tears that betrayed him. “Don’t cry, Viktor. While the curse is as the word implies, it isn’t unfair. You will find someone though it may take time.”

“Time?” he choked out and she smiled.

“Yes. Time and plenty of it. While it is up to the person to love you, you must also put in effort and love them as well. Just… do not take too long, _Солнышко._ ” She held out the white rose from earlier to him and he took it, holding it carefully like it was made of glass. “Once the last petal on this rose falls, you are doomed to remain forgotten and in this form, no matter if you find love afterward or not. It’s the cruelest waiting game, but you cannot wait forever. I’m sure you understand this more than most.”

He nodded and she removed her hand and went back to the window she entered. The storm had subsided to small flurries falling quietly. Had it been summoned with her?

“I wish you well, Viktor. До свидания.”

_Good-bye._

And then she was gone as swiftly as she arrived and Viktor was left to himself. 

What was he to do now? He couldn’t leave. He couldn’t even fathom how to tell those downstairs of their misfortune when he found it difficult to look into any surface that offered a reflection.

He looked around the room and wanted to laugh brokenly at how everything looked normal. Too normal for an abnormal circumstance.

But then his eyes paused on the item that leaned against his chair and the laugh forced itself out of him, soon breaking into a heart-wrenching sob.

Ice skates.

Wet tears rolled down his fur as the emotions previously stunned came to life in full force.

He wanted to tell his father the truth before the man passed away. He wanted to tell the man he wouldn’t complete the family business. He wanted to tell him that his true talent was with skating on the ice and that he wanted to continue competing in competitions and living that way. He wanted…

He wanted…

Well, he couldn’t ask for anything now, could he?

Even if he had told his father these words, his transformation had ridden him of the chance. His wishes were unfounded. Unfounded and impossible to complete.

For he was a monster derived of his father’s cruelty.

Who, in their right mind, would watch a monster skate on ice and not screech in terror? 

His skating days were as good as gone. As final as death.

And a single rose petal fell deafly to the ground as he collapsed onto his knees in despair.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now for the next chapter. This one took my a while to write and I'm not happy with it but I can't write it any other way. ^^" 
> 
> I also apologize for any figure skating mess-ups. Seeing Yuri on Ice does not instantly make me an expert on this. I tried researching as much as I could about the moves and even looked at a few figure skaters but I am ultimately limited in the knowledge haha. :')

The Grand Prix finals were as fantastic as he always imagined at the Junior Grand Prix. The throngs of people waiting with bated breath for a chance of surprise. The large rink that seemed to be a stage of some great magnitude, something that a play of excellent caliber should only be released through. The judges were in their seats and it was through their skeptical stare that the reality crashed through Yuuri and the euphoria faltered.

After all, no rink or audience of any size would make him forget what had been told the night prior by his sister.

_“Yuuri, I’m sorry. Vic-chan managed to get out of the house while a customer was coming in and ran into the road. I tried to stop him but he… Yuuri, I’m so sorry. They tried to do everything they could but he died. I don’t know any other way to tell you.”_

There was no other way to tell him that. How would you tell someone their best friend died? That the one friend who never judged him despite his flaws in weight or anxious personality, had passed away so swiftly? 

Yuuri didn’t feel like his top-notch self. He couldn’t even think of his routine. How did it go again? How had he done it before?

His coach nudged him and he looked up, blinking at the man’s concern. “I know you’re going through a lot right now, Yuuri, but the best you can do right now is get through this and get through it well. Don’t let the grief swallow you. Use it as fuel to do even better. You’re at the Grand Prix Finals, kid. We always thought you would get here and I’m certain Vic-chan would want you to do well rather than get down.”

Tears welled up in Yuuri’s eyes but he nodded with a watery smile, allowing Celestino to give him a one-armed hug before they went back to coach and skater.

“Besides, you might get to meet that skater you seem infatuated with.”

Heat crawled up his neck as he looked at his coach in horror. “I am not infatuated with him! I just happen to admire him and look up to him and-“

“Have posters of him on your dorm wall and watch his routine on YouTube so many times I’m nearly certain you contribute to half the views on it. Phichit has told me everything, Yuuri.”

“Phichit is a traitor and you shouldn’t believe him,” Yuuri muttered but still smiled nevertheless at the prospect of meeting his idol. He’d been longing for so long it felt like he was completing a lifetime goal being here.

His coach chuckled under his breath as he opened the doors that led to the rink. “Now, let’s go ahead and get to the rink. You should probably practice your program. Remember what I said earlier – do not use the quad salchow if you don’t think you can land it. With your presentation, I doubt much quads will be needed at all-“ Celestino’s voice faded in the background as Yuuri and he walked through the doors. The buzz in the air was lively. The admiration was almost tangible. The weight of everything Yuuri had learned was suddenly very present on his frail shoulders, almost making him collapse to the ground.

It was amazing. Even in his grief and intense uncertainty of how he was going to perform today, he couldn’t help but marvel at the fact that he was there. He was there even though many others deserved to be there in his place. It was a good feeling.

But something was off.

No, it was more than off. It was _wrong._ Wrong in every sense of the word.

The other five competitors were already on the ice. Yuuri could see Christophe already trying every move his flexible body could perform. Jean-Jacques was riling the crowd with his wide smiles and overflowing confidence. Even Michele Crispino was looking out at where his sister was, watching her reaction when he practiced a certain part of the routine. There was also that one boy that won silver in the China Cup – Cao Bin he wanted to say. 

One person wasn’t there, however, and that was what was wrong.

Where was Viktor Nikiforov? 

His idol from childhood. The man Yuuri tried so hard to be able to skate just on the same ice as. Where was _he?_

Did he get sick? Was there a family emergency? Had something of equal grief impacted him and made his presence at the finals absent? Yuuri didn’t know because he had seen the man come to competition even when he broke his leg at Worlds a year or two ago.

So, what _was_ it?

He felt like he was missing something, but no matter how hard he thought about it, it didn’t make any sense why the skater wouldn’t be here. Even if he was missing, there should have been someone mentioning it in the live broadcast of this event, but Yuuri could catch no word about the figure skater prodigy with silver hair.

Nobody was shouting his name. No one looked the least bit concerned in neither the crowd or coach and skater. There were Russian fans in the midst of everything, but they were cheering a different name. A name Yuuri had never even heard of though they seemed to think of him as some national legend. The replacement Viktor Nikiforov. 

And not only was he missing, but so was his coach, Yakov, and the other two that tended to linger with him. A boy younger than Yuuri was with blonde hair and a young woman with red hair. That was all he knew about them, but it didn’t matter that he knew them because nobody else seemed to! It almost made him wonder if he had imagined them, but he didn’t want to face that possibility.

It was as if their status were revoked and they were cast out – completely ignored.

Concerned and more than a little confused, Yuuri turned to his coach who seemed to be chatting to the Chris’s coach. “Celestino? Where is Viktor Nikiforov? It said he was supposed to be here, but I haven’t seen him.” _More than that. I haven’t seen him and there is someone taking his spot that shouldn’t be there because it wasn’t right._

It wasn’t right and Yuuri couldn’t force himself to think otherwise.

But the look Celestino gave him made his confidence falter. It was the same look his coach gave to ambitious skaters who sometimes wanted to push their limits and attempt 6 quads when they could barely meet one (Look at: Yuuri). A look of concern and complete befuddlement. Not the look Yuuri wanted and when the words came out of his instructor’s mouth, his blood ran cold.

“Viktor Nikiforov? Is he a friend of yours?”

Yuuri grasped at straws when he realized he had been quiet for too long. “N-No!” He was beginning to stutter. His anxiety was creeping into his tone, and his body was beginning to shake. Celestino must have noticed because his full attention was on Yuuri now. “No. He- He isn’t a friend of mine. He is a figure skater? Do you not remember him? He has won countless gold medals and he’s the prodigy of Russia and-“

His coach looked up at the Russian skater who was gliding gracefully across the ice and then at the same before shaking his head.

“Yuuri, I think your nerves might be confusing you. There is a Russian figure skater here, but he isn’t known as Viktor whatever his name was. His name is _Vitaliy Chernov._ Perhaps you mixed up your friend and him. Nevertheless, you were right about one thing and it was that he’s a damn good skater, but don’t worry, Yuuri, because I know that you are just as good.” His coach turned from watching said Russian skater to Yuuri with a wide grin on his face full of confidence. It started slipping when he finally looked at his student.

He reached out a hand. “Yuuri?”

Yuuri took a step back, flinching at the hand. It couldn’t be possible. This wasn’t possible. How was he to skate now if he was ever able to before? First Vic-chan and now the man he named him after, too? What next? Was his family going to be gone as soon as his short program finished? Should he be expecting that?

He was lost. He was lost and confused and a part of him wanted to just go back to the hotel room and forfeit his spot in the finals.

It didn’t help that even Chris’s coach was giving him a look of confusion and concern. Neither of them believed him.

“I… No. No that isn’t possible.” Yuuri shook his head and ran his hands shakily through his hair that was already carefully slicked back, causing a few strands to land in his face. “It’s Viktor Nikiforov. You don’t forget about someone like him. He should be the one here. He was… wasn’t he in the preliminaries? He should have. I thought I saw him but… No, I…” Words were being lost as the skater tried to voice his distraught. “He should be here. Not Vitaliy. I haven’t even heard of him and-”

Celestino gave him a stern look. “Now, Yuuri, I understand that you may be going through a difficult time with how your dog passed away, but that is no excuse to give unsportsmanlike conduct to a fellow skater. You know this as well as I. They have all worked hard to get here just like you.”

“But I’m not being- ” Yuuri attempted to counter, frantic with the burned image of a grey-haired man with piercing blue eyes in his mind. “I’m not and if only you would _listen_ to me maybe I could prove it to you.” 

He looked around, panic-stricken and reaching for any pinch of proof to show what he firmly believed. His eyes fell on a few of the coaches. “Please. Let me go ask the coaches if they know of him. Maybe there was a mix-up?” 

Celestino looked like he wanted to say something but ultimately sighed and nodded, following after Yuuri as he chose to find the whereabouts of his idol rather than practice.  
…………………  
In the end, nobody remembered him. Nobody knew of his name, of his coach, or even the quad flip that had been his signature move. Instead, he was told that he must mean this other Russian figure skater multiple times. He was told that maybe grief was making him imagine things. He was told that perhaps he should rest a little. He was told everything else besides what he actually wanted to hear.

And when it came time for him to get on the rink, his heart was heavy. It already was sinking with the loss of Vic-chan, but now it sunk even lower with the loss of the man who inspired such a name and allowed Yuuri to make the companionship a possibility.

Could he do this?

He skated to the middle and turned to look at his coach. The man seemed to have a nervous look on his face, lips thinned and brows furrowed. Yuuri probably didn’t help in making him calmer. He should probably apologize when he finished his program – for both his lackluster performance and for worrying his coach over something he was starting to almost doubt.

Looking at his hands and taking a deep breath, Yuuri allowed his short program to start. He rose his hands until they wrapped tightly around him, forcing the tears that were beginning to sting away. He allowed the music to form around him, conform to him, and alter under his skating that he was too distraught over to overthink. It was probably a good think this song wasn’t meant to be taken happily nor lightly.

As the music lifted and fell around the stadium, he moved. The song that came to him and caressed every act he decided to try on the ice that held less appeal now.

_What was I supposed to do? What am I trying to convey again?_

It came to him slowly and he sighed. _Right. That was how it started._

His feet glided until it smoothly transitioned into a toe loop. Something easy but the crowd still gave an applause he had long muted in favor of the twinkling song. Making a small circle, he felt his legs change into a spread eagle as he reached for something – no, someone – that only he could see.

At first, it was Vic-chan who sat at the edge of the rink, tilting his head with a cute lopsided doggy grin. Yuuri couldn’t help but grimace at the grief that consumed him as he glided across the eyes in several twists and turns. His strides were in sync with the music, following it and chasing after it. The mourning made him hardly blink at all when he sped up, legs twisting with his first quad.

It went perfectly. The salchow he could barely manage on his best of days, the triple toe and the triple axel.

Which was… nice. He turned to see if Vic-chan was still staring at him, but his beloved friend wasn’t there anymore.

No, something had shifted. It shifted and suddenly Viktor was the one he was dancing for and like a switch, something shifted in Yuuri’s routine. His glides were smoother, his step-sequence memorizing. The jumps that previously seemed too hard to even ponder were things he decided to attempt and even landed. There was a determination set in his heart. 

A determination that surrounded the disappearance of his idol that was skating beside him unknowingly to the crowd.

It almost felt like he was simply breathing when he felt his combination spin begin, enjoying the brief reprieve before slowly raising himself once again, ending the program with his hand outstretched toward the sky he couldn’t see. 

He hadn’t noticed until that moment that he had been crying. Silently and with small tributaries, tears ran across his cheeks and dripped from his chin. Yuuri couldn’t find it in himself to wipe them away.

All was silent for a while.

And then it went up in flames. Every person was cheering and bouquets were being tossed into the rink, slowly being picked up. 

Yuuri stared all around him in a daze. He knew that he should be smiling. He knew that he should be laughing and giddy with joy that he managed to keep his head and routine despite all that has happened. He knew that he should be somewhat proud of his achievement…

“That was potentially the most memorizing performance today! Katsuki Yuuri of Japan ends today's short programs with a bang. Let’s see what the judges have to say on the matter…”

…But for some reason, it wasn’t the same. Not with his idol gone. It didn’t hold the same level of satisfaction.

When he skated off the rink and stuck the guards on, he felt Celestino give him a pat on the back and lead him over to see his score.

Somehow, the judges thought he deserved a score of 106.54. It was the highest Yuuri had ever achieved and the highest of that day.

The skater was pushed up to first place.

He felt the tears threaten to push their limits, but he held them back.  
…………………………..  
Those same tears that were pushed back the day before now spilled over like a dam broken in a flood when his free skate gave him a score of 199.45. Sobs wracked through his body as Celestino patted his back and murmured concerns of what was wrong and why he was upset. The cameras shuttered his distress, and he felt like he might make some headline, but it didn’t matter.

This didn’t matter.

He never thought he would say it, but this didn’t matter to him.  
……………………………  
In the end, he got silver with his score coming out to 305.99. Chris got bronze (301.46) and the other Russian skater that Yuuri didn’t even bother remembering the name of, got gold (315.87). It was the greatest achievement he felt, but it wasn’t the same without Viktor being on the podium. He couldn’t even look up to the gold medalist without a bitter taste layering his tongue thickly at the thought that if Viktor had been here, he would have scored much higher.

Yuuri felt like he was being petty. That he should just accept what was and move on, but at the same time he felt like he shouldn’t. Like doing so was denying him a part of his life. His heart could not separate as easily as his mind wanted it to, and Yuuri didn’t bother trying to force it.

The camera flashes of thousands of different kinds of electronics lit up the audience as cheers and applause were given. Celestino looked proud and Yuuri gave a fleeting smile at the cheer Phichit would more than likely give him next time he skyped him. He could already hear his friend shouting and getting more excited than Yuuri could ever be – even if things started off better than they had. 

Picking up the medal, Yuuri looked at its shine but found it dull. 

It wasn’t pretty to him. It felt like a weight that matched the Earth.

Something he felt like he didn’t deserve.  
…………………………….  
The banquet was just that. A banquet. Sponsors appeared and all the skaters seemed to be having a good time regardless of the place they got. Coaches were trading stories in sparse corners and it was a lovely atmosphere truly. The food was fantastic and there was enough champagne to potentially lead to a few bad decisions if Yuuri decided to indulge himself. He could already see Chris sneaking away for some reason, a barely heard “pole” trailing after him.

Yuuri decided not to talk to the others and not because he was snobby or thought he was too good for them.

No, it was because he needed to sort out his head. 

Had he really imagined Viktor? Had he made up the man who won so many medals and achieved too many records to count? Every person he brought up his name too seemed to just give him nice, fake smiles and say he sounds like a good friend before walking off. A few others seemed to be fed up with his delusion and tell him the man didn’t exist. Those words hurt more than just the idea that he was missing. 

Because then it led his mind to more possibilities. Did he not exist? Was it all a dream? A form of motivation? 

_Was he going crazy?_

His breath was coming too fast. He could feel his heart fluttering in his chest and vibrate loudly in his skull. He knew this too well. He knew what was about to happen and he needed to leave now. Leave before he made a spectacle of himself.

He needed to calm down.

He needed…

He needed to…

He needed to skate and not for the sake of competition. He needed to skate just to _think._

Yuuri, in a moment’s thought, excused himself and left the banquet, rushing upstairs to the room he and Celestino shared to fetch his bag before leaving the building altogether.

He knew it was stupid walking around Sochi when the weather was chillier than the rink they skated on. He knew that he should turn around and just sleep off his distress and move on.

But it was impossible. He couldn’t think if he was confined to a room. He _needed_ that sense of freedom. Freedom from the looks he got every time he mentioned an idol that may or may not even be here.

It took him a while to find what he was looking for. He probably could have asked for directions but he didn’t know any Russian at all! Would they have understood if he pulled out his skates and waved them around? Language barriers were not helping needless to say, but eventually, with all his aimless wanderings and squinting his eyes at signs he couldn’t understand, he came across a lake.

The lake was surrounded by benches and trees that had a nice layer of snow only seen on holiday cards and movies. The snowfall had long ceased but the snow stubbornly stuck to each branch and surface. It was beautiful.

There was only one person there. A woman it appeared by her hair that was pulled back and hidden under a hood. She seemed to be reading something but Yuuri didn’t bother trying to see what. She might be here for the same reason as he was. He didn’t want to interrupt her. Besides, he wasn’t here to make conversation. He left the banquet for that reason. 

The lake looked completely frozen over but there was no telling until he stepped on it. The thought frightened him but he shook it off. It was either here or trying to get into the rink back at the stadium, and he doubted they would let him in without allowing a small audience.

He didn’t need that.

Setting his bag down on the nearest bench, Yuuri retrieved his skates and laced them up. For a split second, he wondered if it was safe before shrugging and jumping on anyways.  
Yuuri wasn’t aiming for anything special. No jumps of flips or salchows to make his life a misery. No, he just glided across the ice. Making abstract shapes with his blades or just going in circles. Occasionally he would spin for a second or two, but it was a fleeting action. His mind was elsewhere. It had been elsewhere since he got to the finals.

He thought of Viktor’s programs that should have been presented today. He thought of how he should have seen the grace and skill only the Russian figure skater could manage singularly.

But it didn’t happen.

Was it ever supposed to?

Yuuri wasn’t a huge dreamer. Sure, he had ambitions just like everyone else, but he wasn’t the type of person to wistfully think of what could be. Instead, he was down-to-earth kind of guy who pondered on what was actually with him, happening to him, being a part of him in the moment. 

So how could it have been from imagination this long if he never had much to begin with? There were exceptions – such as skating – but that was it! It didn’t make an ounce of sense.

He didn’t want to believe it.

No, it was probably more like he _refused_ to believe it.

Without meaning to, Yuuri felt his body lift as it tried a quad flip. The same move claimed by Viktor Nikiforov. Like every other time he tried it, he collapsed on the ice and cursed under his breath at the bruises that would no doubt meet him in the morning. He looked up and found the woman looking at him before going back to her book, a small smile on her face.

He didn’t think much of it and got back up, going back to his circles and shapes, the refusal still biting in his mind against his better judgment.

But it was hard to change what he was set upon believing. After his recently deceased friend and companion Vic-chan. After the girl 2 years his senior, Yuuko, who dragged him to watch the man and then proceed to learn the movements. After seeing Prix after world series after nationals over and over. After all the teasing his family gave him for the adoration. 

Most of all, Yuuri refused to believe such a lie out of the due respect for the man, who now had disappeared into seemingly nowhere. The esteem lit the flame in Yuuri’s heart that made him want to learn and prosper in a sport he did not have an immediate or innate talent. 

This man made him want to skate. He made him go to Detroit to get better. He brought on the hopeful wish that someday they could skate on the same ice. That maybe they could talk. That maybe he could tell the man “thank you” for all he inspired. For the happiness he persuaded.

Because Yuuri truly had no definition for euphoria if it couldn’t be applied to skating.

So, he refused to believe the man was gone. He refused it with a burning passion.

Once again, he tried to quad flip. He probably should have learned from the first time, but he couldn’t help it. He jumped again and again he fell but he felt like he was getting somewhere. He only had to touch this time. Touch the ice with his hands instead of immediately tumbling to the edge of the lake. 

It was a start. 

In the midst of his thinking and skating, Yuuri probably should have noticed the tiny hairline fractures glistening across the almost-frozen lake, but he was too deep in thought. It appeared thick before the boy and perhaps it had been. Perhaps it had been illusioned as such. Perhaps it was fate that was changing it.

Either way, Yuuri, in the middle of his determined ignorance, began to skate faster across the lake, jumping and performing triple axel after salchow after every move the boy had ever learned until there was the one move he practiced a few times in secret and could never master.

The move that was in Viktor’s legend. The move that made him _him_

He knew how to do it, but the landing wasn’t as easy. The past two times made that much obvious. 

It wasn’t supposed to be easy, however. That was the whole point. That was why it became his signature move – because he could land it and land it he did time and time again with a grace most women would envy.

Could he do the same?

After all, Yuuri was growing tired. Tired and angry and sad and he just wanted everything to be as it had been before this final. The time Vic-chan would lick his face every time he came home. The time Viktor would be the top figure skater. The time where not everyone was probably thinking of him as a boy too shocked to think of the real Russian skater supposedly stealing his idol’s namesake and honor.

_It was wrong._

And with that, he jumped. _Attempt number three_ echoed in his mind as he waited for a crash, a tumble, or at least a touch to the ice.

But neither came. Instead, his blades hit the lake and he stayed standing. It was far from graceful. In fact, one could say it looked like maybe an elephant had tried to do it – but that didn’t change the fact that it happened.

He had done it.

Yuuri couldn’t believe it and a smile was beginning to form.

It all was wiped away when Yuuri felt the shift in the ice under his feet.

He had a split second to let out a scream for the woman before the ice broke, and he slipped through into the frigid water.

It was dark. Dark and black and cold. So cold. He tried kicking but his skates were still on and they refused to let him swim. His fingers were numbing and he felt like they could fall off and the difference wouldn’t be noticed. He wanted to breathe. He wanted to breathe so damn badly but he knew he couldn’t.

He reached out for the gap that was just out of his reach.

He reached and reached until at last the air left his lungs and his vision fell to black.  
………………………………..  
Coincidence has a weird sense of humor surrounding it.

But then again, perhaps this couldn’t be called coincidence at all. Maybe, just maybe, it could be called a certain kind of fate. A cruel one at that. A fate that twiddled with the strings it found more intriguing than the others just to see what would happen.

It was certainly messing with them now.

For at the same moment, far away from Sochi but just as cold, another boy had also been skating across a seemingly frozen lake. He skated while he waited to talk to his friend excitedly about the Grand Prix results, but just like the former boy, he too fell into the depths of water without so much as a single turn of a head.

If this was to be called upon by fate, one would usually wonder what else it has in store.

Well, that was impossible to tell until the moment came and the moment was rising fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Yuuri was skating to in his SP was Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Alexandre Desplat. I adore the piece and it was the only song I had on repeat while I wrote this chapter.
> 
> I kind of just hinted in the past chapter how people would end up at the manor haha :'') But like the enchantress stated, she has no control as to who it happens to our how it happens. So. I guess that's my rubbish reasoning of the ending. I'm awful at explaining my head and thought process. You all will learn this. ^^"
> 
> Also, I occasionally might make it seem like whoever is skating gets the move they are performing correctly immediately or really quickly. It's mostly going to be for plot purposes I promise. For the quad flip, Yuuri had been trying it for a while now but he could never get the landing right since he always over-thought it or something else. 
> 
> Thank you for the views and kudos thus far. I was expecting 0 so anything above that will always make me excited. ^^
> 
> Have a wonderful day! :) I'll try to post another chapter soon if I can.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there is a reason I have slow build in the tags haha. I admit this may take a bit to get started since I'm trying to write out most of the plot devices (aka what happened, what state everything is in, etc.) before I continue with the actual story and eventual Victuri. I promise it will get faster as I go on. I think this one and the next might be one of the few chapters that may be hard to read through and I apologize for that.
> 
> So read at your own leisure! I'm still trying to get the grasp of writing so everything is jumbled up and a mess and I'm so sorry for that. 
> 
> Thank you for everyone who left kudos, comments or even subscribed! :) It ultimately gave me the motivation to stay up so late working on these chapters!!
> 
> I hope you all have a wonderful day! ^^

Chapter 3

His body felt heavy when Yuuri felt his consciousness rise to the surface, slow and steady like he was floating across a current. He could almost feel the small ripples push him gently down the endless stream and a part of him found no reason to disturb it. Truthfully, his arms didn’t want to move but neither did the rest of him. It was perfectly content laying where it was without a single complaint. Yuuri couldn’t find any fault in it either. 

Celestino always did tell him he needed to rest anyways, right? 

…But sleep was as far away from his mind when he could feel and hear the pounding in his skull with each waking thought. It was painful and made his thoughts reduce to whispers against the drum-like beat that showed no signs of stopping.

Perhaps if only the light in his face would go away, the headache would, too?

He could only hope.

Slowly, he pulled out his arms to adjust his position. When he opened his eyes briefly, the first thing he saw were his hands – which were…

Were they…?

Was he… shaking?

_Shivering?_

He didn’t feel cold. Maybe a little chilly at most, but not cold enough to make him shiver. Ice skating kind of got rid of that sensitivity with how often he fell and tried again. It would have to get awfully frigid for him to start shivering that badly.

But there were his fingers, trembling like a frail leaf in a storm. Even clenching his fingers did little to stop the quivers that consumed his numb fingers that seemed colder than the rest of him. He couldn’t focus on anything else – like where he was – when he felt the confusion consume him at this startling revelation.

_What had happened to him?_

He tried to think of anything to grasp at but it was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Impossible. All he could think of was that it was suddenly cold. No, worse than cold. Cold couldn’t even begin to cover the level of arctic shivering that shook his form now that he focused on the sensory memory. 

It had been so cold. So cold that a blizzard in Siberia didn’t seem to compare to the level of wintry trepidation he had for the twitches in his muscles that instinctively wanted to reach out for something he didn’t even recall.

As he stared at his fingers, tips discolored and bluish (maybe purple? He couldn’t tell. Either way it looked wrong. His skin looked paler than it had been but could it just be the natural lighting filtering in through the windows?) he noticed that he wasn’t in the room alone either.

There were voices. Loud and obnoxious voices that sounded like they were trying to be quiet but at the same time didn’t care if they weren’t.

It wasn’t doing wonders to his head so Yuuri closed his eyes again, wondering aimlessly where he was as he tried to think around the migraine. 

Whoever was whispering around him couldn’t be worse at it. It held the same poor attempt as Yuuko when she was trying to expel her excitement while they stayed up past their bedtime to watch the different figure skating competitions. Yuuri constantly trying to shush her – going so far as to place his hand firmly over her mouth sometimes in order to not get them caught. 

So, basically, it was more like barely constrained yelling. 

Which was as far from whispering as possible if that was the goal.

Not that Yuuri minded, of course. He just curled up more inside the warmth that surrounded him, relishing how his fingers were gradually growing feeling in increments. Sure, it didn’t help with his headache, but he couldn’t find the voice to oppose or complain. His throat constricted and rubbed uncomfortable against itself when he just thought about it.

Whether it was from the fear of speaking to complete strangers or just the fact that his body felt like it had been dragged from death’s clutches he wasn’t so sure.

The barely constrained yelling was between a male and female from the sound of it. The female sounded like she was teasing the male (a boy maybe? He didn’t sound nearly as old as Yuuri) and the boy in question wasn’t taking any of it. He kept snapping back like a whip at her words with gradually more anger than the previous response. 

Were they doctors? It didn’t seem like it but if they were not at least that, then what reason would they have to be in the room?

With the growing anger from the boy, Yuuri wondered if he should be concerned for his safety and automatically burrowed under the blankets more. They were wonderful. The blankets not the arguing. Comfortable and pleasant and he wanted to take one back home because they were too wonderful to be true.

What were these made of? Silk? Actual fur? Yuuri had never felt anything finer in his life.

Thinking about it just set him on edge.

A small voice told him to not think about it and just focus on the fact that he was being well-taken care of for the time being (maybe even saved from whatever brought him here in the first place).

_Yes, this is finer than most things you would ever consider, but don’t overthink it._

_What did Celestino always tell you to do? Your parents? Friends?_

_Just breathe. Breathe and allow the pieces to fall into place. Overthinking without foundation will only lead to more overthinking, right?_

Still, it would have been more helpful in his situation if he knew what they were saying. Just a word or two at least. None of it sounded familiar (which probably didn’t help much when his familiarity was strictly to English or Japanese so.) He didn’t recognize the language at all. The best he could do was go by how the words sounded and flowed and even then, all he could think of was Russian.

Which confused him because how would he assume such a language when he hadn’t ever been there before? Maybe it went along with how he was having problems remembering what happened to him?

How many more holes were there to fill?

_**Could he fill them?** _

_Breathe, Yuuri. That’s it. Breathe with me. In and out. That’s right. In and out. Focus on my voice, on my heart beat. It’s easy. Calm down._ Phichit’s voice came to him quietly, a replay from his panic attack he faced the night before he left for…

For what?

Another plot hole.

He felt like he wanted to cry in frustration and it was only by the sheer willpower he hardly owned that he didn’t do just that or worse.

_Focus on the present. On the now. That’s all you can do._

_That’s all_ I _can do._

_Come on, Yuuri. You outgrew crying a long time ago, right? That’s what you told Mari. Grow a backbone!_

Taking a shuddering breath, he let it out slowly and forced himself to think of the bickering. To think of the two strangers he didn’t recognize and couldn’t understand. Their language that may or may not be Russian.

Think of the now; that was a start, wasn’t it? A start that didn’t help in telling him where he was. He could be encountering Russians (?) in America or he might actually be in the country. He truly didn’t know and there was no way to ask with how he was still trying to work his vocals into forming words despite the raw-feeling that consumed them.

Maybe he was back at the hotel? The hotel that he suddenly couldn’t remember the location of but knew it _existed_ at the same time. 

But then Celestino would be here – not two complete strangers. He would be here and he would have been by Yuuri’s side instantly if he so much as moved, berating him for acting recklessly in an action he hardly remembered at all. 

Maybe he had fallen and hit his head and then was taken to a hospital? He couldn’t remember this happening either, but it was the best guess he could come with if the hotel was out of the window. 

Still, the smell of antiseptic would have assaulted his nose alongside the typical machines making their noises around him – making it impossible to sleep or relax.

And… there was no noise. In fact, it was strangely silent. If the two strangers hadn’t been in the room, Yuuri could have heard a pin drop with a strikingly amount of clarity. Heard it so clearly that he might have been able to pin the pitch exactly on a piano if asked to recite it again.

It wasn’t the kind of silence that still had some level of ambience either. No wind. No creaks in the floorboard. Not even the smallest sound of footsteps met his ears. Only the conversation he couldn’t understand if he tried.

Was he simply in the waiting room then? A small clinic down the road? Maybe but the bed he was in was much too nice to be from a medical setting of any degree.

Yuuri opened his eyes and was met with a possibility he didn’t even consider.

Was this… _a bedroom?_

It seemed like it. The walls were painted with a pastel blue, gold trimmings covering the top and bottom. There were some intricate designs, too, but focusing on them made Yuuri’s head hurt even more than thinking did. Larger things were safer and the two windows that were nearly floor to ceiling with white curtains covering most of the view made him squint were definitely large to say the least. His eyes struggled to become adjusted to the light that had assaulted them so quickly.

He was certain if he looked around he would find a wardrobe of some kind, end tables of some type of expensive wood and even a tall full-length mirror. Perhaps he would even see paintings and trinkets to further show off the wealth this person clearly had.

It was unsettling. Yuuri felt like a black peasant sheep in a flock of white aristocrats.

Still, he couldn’t help but admit to himself that this was much better to the alternative if he had truly been at a hospital. He already feared what his parents and coach might do if he had to face them for doing something reckless in their eyes. It sent shivers of guilt down his spine.

He could already see his mother’s tears as she told him he would never leave home again, much less Japan. His coach shaking his head in disbelief and even Phichit scolding him and showing how his Twitter feed had blown up with the news and it was cruel of Yuuri to leave him to that.

It would have been awful.

So, compared to that, he selfishly was a little glad he didn’t end up there.

But, at the same time, it would have just made more sense if he had, wouldn’t it?

After all, waking up in a bedroom was as weird as things could get when waking up from memory loss. It wasn’t familiar to him. It didn’t have the expected sounds and smells. It was just strange and that was possibly the worst part about it.

His breathing felt so close to hitching but he barely kept it under by closing his eyes for a second. Out of sight and out of mind except not quite when the "what ifs" came to the front of his attention.

_Stop that. Focus on what is happening right now. Not what should have happened. You always overthink things too easily. Just… accept them. Even if it seems really hard right now._

Okay, so he wasn’t in a white-washed room with an incessant beeping machine regulating his heart. Okay, so he might be in a lavished bedroom he could only dream of setting a small toe in. Okay, perhaps he was in a bed, a big one at that, and almost layered with twenty different comforters and throw blankets. And, okay, there was definitely a pillow under his head that felt softer than anything his family could ever afford. 

But he already knew that. Everything in this room might as well cost more than anyone he knew could earn in their lifetime – no, double that.

So, why was he here? He didn’t belong here. A part-time hot spring worker shouldn’t be in a place like this.

Was he at someone’s house? That sounded even stranger. What person would take him to their house instead of to a hospital (which while terrifying was the more logical place to go to)? 

He would have guessed that it was because the house was closer than a hospital and maybe they had a personal physician, but then wouldn’t he have been around when Yuuri woke up? 

And the duo that kept bickering none too quietly in the corner certainly was not one if Yuuri had to guess.

The burning question came back to him as the possibilities slowly grew endless.

_Why was he here?_

Of course, this went hand-in-hand with the other question: _What happened to him?_

The image of a kidnapper in an ominous black silhouette came to mind and Yuuri felt his heart beat pick up drastically as he felt the urge to sit up and run to the nearest exit immediately. 

This was quickly pushed away when he tensed his muscles and found them biting back in their growling ache that made him think _“Okay. Okay. No. Let’s not do that, Yuuri. That would be the worst mistake of your life.”_ Because it wasn’t just his legs that ached but his entire body. It was as if he was the embodiment of throbbing reminders of something he couldn’t remember. Yuuri was almost positive if he lifted his shirt he would find bruises. He couldn’t remember for the life of them how he got them because no immediate memory of him falling or even fumbling a jump came to mind, but he knew they would be there blossoming in all their purple and blue glory.

Weird.

It was even weirder that he couldn’t remember certain parts of his normal memory. Some parts of his childhood. Today’s date. Things that were probably important before but he couldn’t think of for the life of him now. Like trying to remember the reason he adopted Vic-chan or focusing on why he started skating. It was a blur that wouldn’t sharpen no matter how much he tried.

His throat felt sore like he was growing a cold and there was this awful sniffling that kept making him much aware of how sensitive he was to the cold sometimes if he allowed it to catch up to him. When he took in all the misery his body was practically shouting at him, it was almost like a part of him came back from the dead just a few minutes ago, and his body was still trying to catch up to the sudden news. 

As the boy and woman argued back and forth, the previously small threat of sniffles was growing to be Yuuri’s primary concern. The urge to do so was almost overwhelming, but he didn’t want them to notice if he was awake. 

A part of the reasoning was in case he actually was kidnapped. Looks could be deceiving. Maybe they thought that if they took a figure skater the coach would pay money to get him back. Use him for ransom. It sounded silly to his own ears, though. Who would pay money for _him?_

The other was because a part of him didn’t want to be rude and interrupt the conversation. He was taught to be patient and wait until a conversation was over before speaking. His mother had ingrained that the first second she could, and he couldn’t break himself of the habit now.

He was good at being patient.

That would be easy.

Or so he thought.

As the seconds wore on, the tickling sensation of a runny nose greeted him merrily. He tried breathing in deeply to help satisfy the urge but it was only temporary for a few seconds at most. 

When it was clear that they might not cease their conversation anytime soon, Yuuri quietly tested the waters with a small sniffle.

As he predicted, their conversation dropped immediately and Yuuri felt his heart jump in his throat as he heard them walk over.

One of them poked him square in the back several times until he reluctantly turned around and faced the assailant. “Hey. You awake? You’ve been sleeping forever. We were starting to wonder if you died.” 

Yuuri jumped at the poke directed at his stomach and rubbed the sore spot as he looked at the duo. A boy who was more than likely a few inches shorter than he stared back at him intensely, blonde hair pulled back into an almost messy ponytail. The woman next to him had red hair and seemed to be watching him carefully with a dainty smile. 

The smile resembled that of cat trying to decide if he was worth its time. It didn’t put him at ease.

“You… speak English?” Stupid! That was the first question he decided to ask? He could have at least introduced himself and they had just spoken it in front of him so _of course_ they spoke English. What was he thinking? 

And to make matters worse, it seemed like those were the exact thoughts the small, angry boy. “Of course we do, idiot – ow!” The blonde yelped as the red-haired woman pinched him. 

“Yuri, that’s not nice,” the woman chided nonchalantly, and Yuuri blinked in confusion.  
“But I didn’t say anything,” was said at the same time as the blonde muttered, “I wasn’t trying to be nice.”

_Wait, what?_

They looked at each other. The girl seemed even more amused now and snickered under her breath.

“Sorry, I meant Yuri here.” She reached over and pat the blonde on the head. A sharp glower was slowly shifting itself to her as something akin to a growl rumbled under his breath. If he had the powers to do so, Yuuri was sure Yuri would have turned the woman to ash the instant that hand touched his head. “He’s not the best person to meet even on his best of days. To answer your question, though, yes we do speak English. Would you prefer that? I assume you don’t speak Russian.”

Yuuri nodded slowly, trying not to look at the boy who looked as angry as the tiger roaring on his shirt. “W-What were you saying earlier?”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, nothing. I was just teasing him. He doesn’t take it too well, but it’s hilarious seeing his reaction, wouldn’t you agree?”

That felt like a trick question. It felt certainly like a trick question when he noticed that he was now the object of demonic anger exhibited from the boy. If he said yes, which he wasn’t sure if he wanted to, he didn’t know if he would be able to live much longer. Or sleep. Or do anything in fear of being assassinated by this merciless child.

It was frightening so Yuuri stayed carefully quiet until the woman chuckled. 

“Going to stay quiet? Well, at least we know you value your life. Smart. That is a very admirable quality, wouldn’t you say, Yuri? Maybe… even something he might enjoy?”

“I doubt it. Besides, who says that he should even stay here? Two Yuris are too much if you ask me. We should just send him back as soon as-“ 

“But that isn’t possible, now is it?” The woman leveled and there seemed to be a stare off until Yuri muttered a curse under his breath and looked away. 

Yuuri was left in confusion. 

It wasn’t possible to go back? Had he heard that correctly?

Before he could ask, the woman seemed to pull a complete 180 and turn a bright smile on the bewildered boy trying to make out what was happening to him. “Oh, this is wonderful, isn’t it?” She nudged Yuri but he just curled his shoulders inward at the contact, a certain anger shining in his eyes that Yuuri wasn’t quite sure what he did to deserve. “You’re probably confused, right? Sorry for Yuri’s lacking hospitality. My name is Mila and you are?”

“Yuuri,” his voice faltered and he cleared it again as he said his full name. “Yuuri Katsuki.”

A look brightened across her face as she let out a quiet ‘ooh.’ Even Yuri seemed to blink several times before settling back on his normal scowl. Nevertheless, Yuuri couldn’t shake off what he saw in Mila’s expression.

Was that a look of understanding in her eyes?

_Did she know him?_

That made him feel ten times worse than before since he couldn’t even remember her at all – with her name being said point blank even.

He wanted to ask her but he was afraid to see her disappointed reaction when she realized he couldn’t reciprocate knowing her. Disappointing people was not one of his favorite things to do, hence why he tried so much. Maybe it was best to stay quiet until the plot holes filled inside his memory. Hopefully he would remember her then.

Yuri simply rolled his eyes. Nothing seemed to deter his mood whatsoever. 

It was both admirable and frightening in a way.

“Yeah, yeah you can fawn over his name later. That isn’t what’s important and you know it, Mila. What I want to know is what the hell you were doing to end up here?” The blonde took a step forward and Yuuri felt like he wanted to recoil under the blankets to escape the rage directed at him. “We wake up and find you unconscious at the gate entrance. Cold to the bone like you practically died. There are a lot of questions I have and you’re lucky I’m being nice. So. Explanations. Now.”

Yuuri blinked and tried to remember what happened but the last thing he remembered was… well, not much admittedly. His family and friends certainly but there were holes everywhere.

And that chilling sensation that sunk deep in his bones that felt both physical and emotional.

What _was_ that?

The answer he was about to give wasn’t going to be the one Yuri wanted. He knew this but he couldn’t make up a lie. It would come back to haunt him later and then where would he be? “I don’t know,” he eventually said.

It was quiet and then, “You… You don’t know?!” Yuri grounded out and it was like witnessing a volcano about to explode. “How could you not know? What, did you hit your head on the gate? That is possibly the stupidest excuse I’ve ever heard. I _swear-_ “

“Yuri, please stop your tantrum for a moment,” Mila tilted her head as she looked at Yuuri, ignoring the indignant squawk of protest next to her. The humor from before was gone and replaced with… concern? “Yuuri, what is today’s date?”

Yuuri thought about it long and hard, finally replying with the utmost certainty. “December 4th? Sunday? At least I think so but I don’t really know.” He let out an awkward laugh. 

The narrowing of her eyes did not go unnoticed as she grimaced. No matter how Yuuri took it, that was not an expression meaning that he answered correctly.

Well, there went his certainty.

Mila thinned her lips before sighing. “He’s suffering memory loss. More than likely a more severe form of amnesia, actually. I’m sure he’ll remember eventually, but I don’t think your yelling will help with that. Memory loss is part of the symptoms of hypothermia, which Yakov said he was suffering from when he found him.” 

Hypothermia?

_Well, I guess that explains the holes and the strange blizzard-cold sensation in his memory, doesn’t it?_

_Didn’t help with telling him how long he would have until they came back though. It’s probably already been a day which is more than a little unusual. Even for hypothermia._

(But he chose not to focus on it in fear of how he might react. Who knew what Mila and Yuri would do when they saw him curl in upon himself with short breaths and a hummingbird fast heart beat? Probably nothing. That was what most people did.

Not that Yuuri could blame them.

It was a scary moment. Just not as fearful as the person going through it.)

Sighing through slightly chapped lips, Yuuri mumbled softly, “What day is it?”

“December 13th. You were nine days off,” Yuri stated matter-of-factly and Yuuri slipped further into the comforter.

“But don’t worry, Yuuri.” Mila patted his head and he peeked up to see her giving him a soft smile. “I’m sure you’ll remember eventually. If not, maybe Yakov will know what to do.”

There was that name again. Yakov. It sounded familiar, but in a “out of reach” sort of way.

But at least there was a familiarity around him. That was more than what he felt towards the duo in front of him. It was like staring at a flame that was just out of his reach no matter how much he fought against the chains holding him back. And Yuuri knew, he just _knew_ that if he could just touch that flame once – maybe tinge the edges of his fingertips – he would remember more than he did now.

It was frustratingly annoying. 

“Yakov? We could wait for the old man but maybe all the дурак needs is a smack upside the-“ Yuri looked like he was ten seconds from smacking Yuuri upside the head, and Yuuri felt like that would do anything but help him. Panic spiking his blood, he tried to change the subject as quickly as he could. He could hear his mind mumbling, _“Red wire or blue wire?”_ It was like he was defusing a bomb.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Yuuri asked meekly, trying to keep his anxiety under key as he continued. “But where am I? Am I… I can’t really think of a location which is kind of frightening so I would really appreciate… knowing…” he drifted off at the shared look the duo exchanged.

It was a humble silence that blanketed them. Humble like a solemn agreement they had come to terms with a while ago. An unsaid deal.

Had he asked the wrong question? It sounded perfectly reasonable to his own ears, but was it an offense to Mila and Yuri? Yuuri felt his face heat up at the prospect. “I-I’m sorry if that was an inappropriate question. I didn’t mean to intrude and, um, I don’t know how to go about this.” He felt like he wanted to ramble apology after apology but instead resigned himself to looking down at his hands, fingers twisting in the silk-like comforter. The fingertips were still discolored. “Can you at least tell me how to get back? Should I call a ride or ask someone to pick me up? I just need to get to an airport or even a phone-“ 

There was a strange look in Mila’s eyes as he was saying this that disappeared quickly when Yuri opened his mouth. Before the first word was uttered, she seemed to have kicked him and gave him a look that made him click his tongue and look away. “We don’t know quite frankly. We don’t leave the house often because…” She paused and then smiled. It looked painfully fake. “We just like it here is all. It’s nice and out of the way. I’m afraid we wouldn’t know much about how to leave.”

“Besides, why would you want to leave when you arrived here almost half-dead. You’re lucky we decided to save you,” Yuri muttered before adding nonchalantly. “If you leave, you’ll probably end up in pieces by the time you get back. Maybe you should wait.” At this he sounded reluctant, a complete turnaround from what he said earlier seemingly forced.

_Until when?_ He wanted to ask but a knock interrupted his question.

A man older than the two next to Yuuri peaked in. He had a resolute frown and narrowed eyes. It was frightening and Yuuri began to slip further into the blankets. Perhaps if he curled under them enough, closed his eyes, or clicked his heels he would return him and find out this was all one dream. 

“Yuri. Mila. You are needed elsewhere.”

He glanced at Yuuri once more, eyes widening considerably before leaving the room altogether with a shake of his head and words muttered too softly for him to understand. The other two followed suit quickly with a muttered goodbye from Yuri and a nicer one from Mila.

As they were making their way out the door, Yuuri caught the tail ends of a conversation – this one completely in English, though he didn’t know if that was by accident or not.

“I hope you know what you are doing. He can’t take anymore disappointment and you know it. And he still owes me my senior debut so-“

“Oh, quiet, Yuri. I’m almost completely positive this time it will happen. This will be the one. And when it is, I’m sure we will all get more than a petty senior debut-“

_“Petty?!”_

“-Including Vitya. I’m sure you are aware how much he deserves this.”

Then there was silence as the door was shut behind them. The same silence Yuuri described earlier. Pin-dropping silence that helped null the headache Yuuri had a little bit and allowed him to think.

And the first thing he thought of was this strange feeling. A feeling so strange it felt like… he should know it very well but he couldn’t quite touch it. Like having a word on the tip of your tongue, seeing a glimmer of a needle in the haystack, or even having a memory that was threatening to shine brightly. 

But he could have sworn now that he saw all three of them together, as a unit, that they looked really... 

A knock brought him out of his reverie as Mila peeked in again. “Yakov wanted to know if you had any other symptoms. Headaches? Nausea? Anything that is bothering you?”

Yuuri blinked before offering a smile. “I do have a bit of a headache.”

Nodding to herself, she waved again and shut the door.

There was that feeling again. 

_Familiarity._

It was stronger than before when they were separated. Their togetherness made things… complicated in his head.

It was strange and as much as Yuuri wanted to think about it, exhaustion was quickly consuming him again, and he saw no need to fight it, sinking back under the comforter and relishing the warmth just a little while longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a reason for Yuuri's amnesia I promise you, and he will remember eventually. He's just kind of going through a lot. 
> 
> Time is weird in this place and you all will see an example eventually.
> 
> Now I'm going to go hide in my corner and try not to think of this awful chapter I delivered to you guys. Perhaps I should have someone else read my work and help me find the chinks in it. *sigh*
> 
> Have a nice night. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's getting more chapters?? You all. Sadly this one is short so I apologize for that but here's the actual legit start of the story in theory. 
> 
> Or kind of anyways. You will see.
> 
> I'm sorry for all the errors in these past few chapters. Or the lengthy and unnecessary stuff. :') I'm trying to master a good writing style that is both informative and nice to read but I haven't quite found my niche yet!
> 
> It's currently 3:37 am where I am at. I really should be sleeping. Welp. Sleep is for the weak so. :'') 
> 
> Have a nice day! Hopefully you can forgive my awful writing. :)

Chapter 4

As the first day melted into the second and the second into the third, Yuuri wasn’t sure how to feel about what was happening to him anymore.

Maybe that sounded weird. At least, to him, it sounded strange because, in some rational sense, he should be scared or intimidated (maybe even freaking out to some extent.) Any of these were completely normal! After all, he was in a weird place with an odd group of people that seemed to move around this collective secret Yuuri couldn’t gently tug out no matter how much he tried to appear open and willing.

Because, to him, if he was going to stay here – as all of them were intent on – he should be able to know what he was dealing with, right?

It wasn’t too much to ask for he didn’t think.

But, as stated a lot by this point, this place was… strange.

What could be even stranger than that was his memory – and the lack thereof.

Even after a day or two, Yuuri realized his memory wasn’t going to come back to him miraculously fast. With how much Yuuri slept to get back to full health, he wasn’t sure how long it had been and the duo haven’t exactly shown themselves since the first day. The only way he knew they were not a part of his imagination (a word that made him cringe for some reason) were the little notes Mila liked to leave when he woke up and found food on the end table.

Yuri was less approachable but lately, they’ve been playing tic-tac-toe games. Yuuri drawing the game and marking an “O” before sleeping. He’d always wake up with an “X” in his game. He didn’t even know it was Yuri until Mila commented it on one of her notes.

It was nice that they were trying to make him comfortable. It was more than he could ever ask for really.

Yet, he was tired of being coddled. He wasn’t the type of person to like that kind of attention. He just wanted his memories. The ones that seemed to forever elude him.

The ones that made him wonder who he watched on the TV with Yuuko when they were kids. The ones that made remembering parts of his dorm with Phichit hard to pinpoint like the poster he liked to hang next to the door. The ones that seemed to make his reasoning for liking to skate a complete mystery (and it shouldn’t be if he had gone this far from that determination, right?)

But no matter how much he tried to force himself to remember, all he got from his efforts were headaches galore and a residual feeling of disappointment.

He knew he would have to wait.

He just didn’t like it. Why should he have to wait for something that was rightfully his?  
Yuuri felt like he was in a dark room. A room so dark and the switch that would make it brighter was just out of his reach. Like there was a door that leads to the outside and he would keep hearing words and phrases and experiences that sounded like they would be his, too, but he wouldn’t know for sure until the light was turned on. 

_If only he could reach that switch._

It was frustrating seeing the trio (albeit “very brief glimpses” were more accurate) or hearing their names and knowing that he knew them from somewhere but couldn’t remember it. 

He remembered his family and friends. His rink mate Phichit and their small dorm of which they have seen “Shall We Skate” so many times came back to him easily. The grief that came with losing Vic-chan came back to him with a little more reluctance, but he still could think of the call his sister had informed him with. But anything surrounding any of the three people that came to check up on him made him fight tooth and nail for just a little taste.

And he still wouldn’t get a pinch of what he wanted.

What level of hypothermia would lead to this?

The boy had never had hypothermia before (since he was always too careful in case it messed him up skating-wise), but even he had an inkling of a feeling that this wasn’t right. That this wasn’t the usual. That this was abnormal.  
It would be just his luck that he would be doomed to this cruel punishment longer than typical.

Yuri mentioning more than once how he wanted Yuuri to skate while passing the room was now the usual. Always complaining. Always bitter about whatever Mila or Yakov said in response. Always muttering how it might change things. How he knew that Yuuri skated was beyond him, however; or what would change from him skating.

Mila, on the other hand, appeared to have a more romanticized view of him being here than just skating. She kept murmuring things under her breath like, “He could be the one” or “Perhaps we should just see what happens if he meets _him._ ”

Who _him_ was Yuuri didn’t know and it wasn’t for lack of trying to get ahold of the information. 

The one time he managed to catch Yuri before he slipped out the door, he tried to broach the subject but it was like talking to ice. 

_“Yuri, can I ask you a question?”_

_“I don’t know. Can you?” The boy replied sarcastically. Yuuri flinched and twiddled his thumbs until there was a heavy sigh. “Fine! Yes. Whatever. What is it?”_

_“Who is the ‘he’ Mila keeps mentioning?”_

_Yuri dropped ten shades until he was as pale as the snow outside that refused to melt. His mouth looked like it wanted to work but settled on a thin line as the boy clicked his tongue and ran a hand through his hair. “The heir of this manor.”_

_Yuuri felt brave for a second more than he usually did so he tried to prod further, aware of the already thinning ice he was treading foolishly on. “Do you… know him? The way Mila talks about him and even you… it sounds like you do. Personally, I mean. I always hear her mention how I could be ‘the one’ but-“_

_“Ignore it!” Yuri cut off harshly and Yuuri gulped thickly. “It is none of your business and you shouldn’t be eavesdropping on conversations not meant for your ears anyways. Don’t listen to it, you hear me?”_

_He had broken through the ice._

_The blonde boy closed his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them. This time it was clear from the look in those judging orbs that the conversation was over. Yuuri would be lucky to get any information out. Still, he couldn’t be blamed for trying to understand something he knew nothing about._

_He looked ten seconds from walking out but before he did, he turned to Yuuri hesitantly. His hand was still on the doorknob, and the door itself was slightly ajar. “Do you need anything else?”_

_“I…” Wringing out his fingers, Yuuri met the boy’s glaring gaze cautiously. “May I know his name at least? Last question, I promise.”_

_At this Yuri blinked at him for a long minute before seeming to look for something. His intentions? Some kind of mocking sincerity? Yuuri didn’t know what it was he was trying to catch, but either the boy found it or he didn’t because he looked away and muttered, “зверь,” before stalking out, closing the door after him._

_**Зверь?** _

“Zver?” Yuuri mumbled to himself.

It sounded strange when Yuuri tried to say it, but it still made him shiver like a fresh wind from the arctic breathed down his spine. It didn’t sound like a good word – less likely a name.

No, if he had to guess, it had to be a nickname or a name that was chosen because… of something that Yuuri hadn’t been a part of. It sounded thick and resolute, a name chosen not because it was the name given to him at birth, but because it was the name designated to him now.

Which… was almost sad, wasn’t it?

Maybe he was reading too much into it. Or even overthinking it. That was his specialty after all.

Still, the look that Yuri had on his face as he muttered the name or the loss of color when the skater even asked after him was a look that made him wonder how close to the truth he was.

But that wasn’t his priority.

Well, it _shouldn’t_ be, anyways, but Yuuri found it interesting.

There was a difference between not knowing something and not remembering something. 

For one, it was significantly less irksome and terrifying.

Just the word “amnesia” alone kind of scared him if he were honest. Not remembering something was terrifying, especially if you knew it at one point and were aware of it being missing. Torturing his mind did little to lift this fear. All the fruitless labor brought was the word “skating” which made even less sense to him.

Skating?

Skating on what? Skating with whom? Skating to what purpose?

Perhaps he should text Phichit. He honestly didn’t know why he didn’t try to when he first woke up. Maybe because everything else had been on his mind besides texting his friend (which sounded awful now that he thought it out.) 

It had been a rough few days after all. Trying to recover from hypothermia and a cold that was on the brink of becoming a problem. Yuuri probably slept more in the past three days than most weeks in college alone. He was sure his friend would forgive him for that since he was always onto Yuuri about sleeping despite staying up till 3 am himself having twitter wars and trying to get “Wendy’s to roast him” or whatever.

Still, no doubt his friend would know. He was so involved in social media he might as well be one with the internet. Some kind of god of it all to some degree.

Patting himself down, Yuuri realized that now that he focused on his phone, he didn’t actually know where it was. He reached over to the end tables and opened the drawers, but he couldn’t find it. It was missing. Weird. Maybe he lost it when he somehow arrived here?

Anything was possible which was the worst feeling. It gave him no foundation, no starting point and certainly no path to follow.

He didn’t think that not having his phone would set his anxiety into motion but there were the breaths that exited quickly. There were the shaky hands and the feeling of his throat closing up. There was the sweating that came in waves and the dizziness. 

Yuuri never had the same separation anxiety Phichit got when he left his phone back at the dorm and they were already practicing with Celestino. He didn’t understand it. Sure, it wasn’t on you, but that wasn’t a reason to freak out about it. He would just check it later than every minute. 

But he was beginning to change that mindset when he considered it was probably the only way he could contact Celestino or anyone for that matter. Without it, there wasn’t a way to get home unless he wanted to test nature itself.

But he didn’t remember getting here so how would he know how to get back?

His hands reached for every opening, checking every pocket in the borrowed clothes he hadn’t realized he had been wearing until this moment. Feet stumbled to the hardwood floors that sent shivers through his entire being as he checked under the bed. 

He was as empty handed as when he first thought about it.

Standing, Yuuri ran a hand through his hair and fidgeted with his glasses. He knew he needed to calm down but it wasn’t easy by himself. It was never easy by himself. He needed that grounding sensation. He needed another person’s voice to help him through and without it, he didn’t know what to do.

The skater was so lost in his conundrum of thoughts that the sudden growling sound outside his door made the panic stutter to a stop as he gave a jump.

_What… was that?_

_A growl? Like some kind of animal? Did they have pets around here?_

No, that couldn’t be possible. At least, nothing that would make a sound that deep and bone-chilling. If Yuuri hadn’t remembered he was, in fact, in a manor with nice furniture, he might have thought that a bear somehow got in. Or a very large wolf. 

The floorboards creaked down the hallway outside his door. They protested and groaned against the heavy weight the skater could only imagine in his head, fear keeping him transfixed to his spot until the danger passed.

When the moans in the wood started to get quieter, Yuuri felt something else consume him. A small type of curiosity that he should ignore, but compared to the anxiety on the fence in his mind, this seemed to be the safer choice. At least, that was what he told himself as he opened the door an inch and peeked outside.

He expected maybe Yuri since the boy liked to grumble to himself sometimes, but instead of the familiar blonde all Yuuri saw was a mass of silver fur in the vague shape of a man round the corner. 

By vague he meant that… he really didn’t know what or who it was. It looked like it should be a man. All rational thought told him that only humans should be walking around on two legs, but lately, rationality has been not helping him much so perhaps he shouldn’t rely on it much. After all, there was little that could be said when the coat of silver fur also had on clothing – human clothing – overtop. How would _that_ be explained?

Whichever the case may be, the odd-looking man piqued Yuuri’s curiosity. 

Against his better judgment, he followed the man quietly, wincing with his aching muscles and trying hard not to shudder every time his feet touched the cold floorboards anew. His arms wrapped around himself to conserve every ounce of body heat he could as he kept to the walls to follow the man. 

A few times he wondered what he would say if Mila or Yuri caught him.

_“Ah, yes, you see… I heard this growl and I wanted to follow it? And please disregard how incredibly foolish and stupid that sounds. It was extremely important and I was curious and acting on curiosity never killed anyone, right?”_

He could already see their looks that questioned his sanity. They might even wonder if he was suicidal. Hearing danger and then choosing to follow it? What kind of person would even do that?

Him, apparently. 

Nevertheless, neither of the two appeared on his path and he was left to his own devices, stalking a man that he should probably leave alone to his own devices. 

Still, the _mystery_ of it all kept him going. Kept him rounding corners, sneaking around like some thief in the night and testing just how fast his heart could race. Wondering who he was and what he was. Wondering what he looked like. Wondering if he even spoke English or was purely an animal at heart. Things that most story writers would probably love to imagine. 

But every time he thought he could get a true glimpse of the face, it would turn away like he knew there was someone watching him. As unnerving as it was, Yuuri refused to let it stop him, moving around his toes to get the blood flowing before continuing his small journey. 

As the game of “follow the leader” continued, Yuuri was able to see the house more so than before. The luxurious paintings of both scenery and portrait. The vases with flowers that appeared to be frozen in time with how beautiful they were. Small trinkets and plaques next to doors that told him where he was in a language he didn’t understand. It truly was a manor as Yuri had described it. As expensive and money-favored as it was beautiful. 

Yuuri’s thoughts came to a stop as he slowly creaked open the door the man went through, cringing at the creak that threatened to make his presence known. 

Quickly squeezing his way through the gap, he was immediately met with a set of stairs that went up in a spiral in front of him.

_No. Turn around._

Fear was telling him this. Fear was telling him to crawl back into bed and maybe cry. Fear was telling him that he shouldn’t be pushing limits in an unknown place _he knew nothing about._ Fear was telling him all the safe things to do.

There would be no places to hide once he ascended. He could try the shadows, but what good would that really do for him? 

Should the man descend while Yuuri satisfied his curiosity, he was as good as dead.

But there was a hunch coming from going up these steps. Like he had to. Like it was important.

For some reason Yuuri would never understand, this hunch outweighed his entire lifetime history of anxiety and fear in one swoop. 

He took one step and one turned to two and so on until he was gradually and carefully climbing the stairs. After a few minutes of this task that his body was complaining at, he wondered if there was anything up here at all. Maybe it was a ploy to trick him. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as sneaky as he thought he was and the man only lead him this way to get caught in the act.

Perhaps he should turn around. Maybe this was a fruitless endeavor. The warm, inviting blankets would still be waiting for him despite how quickly he abandoned them. He could ask Mila later about the man instead of risking his life surely.

All these thoughts were quickly all dashed aside when he heard a familiar voice.

“You go skating on thin ice and _this_ is what happens to you.” The murmurs were low, and he was definitely whining. “Should have listened to the others but it was perfect outside and no one should disregard a perfect day and-“

A familiar voice that was much closer than it should be.

“This is stupid. All I did was simply pick at a rose outside because it looked really pretty and this is what I get? Is picking roses a crime now?” There was a groan of complaint but Yuuri was already moving up the stairs, ignoring the trembling in his muscles and how his feet were freezing against the stone steps.

Running up the rest of the stairs and almost tripping on a step, Yuuri ascended until he comes to a cell with a locked door. There was a lit lamp hanging next to it and he picked it up, holding it to the door so he could see if his ears were playing tricks on him or not.

Narrowing his eyes, he peered into the room and felt a cold shiver run up his spine at the familiar face in the corner of the cell, peering out of the window. Dark gray eyes and a tanned complexion. Black hair that reached just below his eyebrows. The missing smile Yuuri was so used to seeing.

_It couldn’t be…_

No. It _shouldn't_ be.

_“Phichit?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might take me a bit to post the next few chapters. I am trying to work in increments of two. One if it's super long. I have each chapters plot written out in my spiral so all I have to do is type it out and flesh the chapter into something more legible than hasty tiny scrawl haha. 
> 
> My poor college professors think I am taking notes on their lectures when I am in truth writing chapters. But I will have to study soon. Finals coming up and everything. I'll try to post two more if I can though. 
> 
> Hope you all are less sleep deprived than I am right now. :) Have a wonderful night.

**Author's Note:**

> So... first chapter! Let's see when I can post the second. I'm sorry for how convoluted everything is. It's kind of messy and I might edit it later, but I was just really excited to post it. ^^" Have a nice day!


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